


From the shallows, to the deep end

by Moahoa



Series: Nightsilver [2]
Category: X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies), X-Men (Comicverse), X-Men (Movieverse), X-Men - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, nightsilver, quickcrawler
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-12
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2018-12-01 10:22:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 17,002
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11484381
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Moahoa/pseuds/Moahoa
Summary: Some formative moments in Kurt and Peter’s relationship as they transition from mutual crushing to practically married.--> Sequel to "The oblivious vs. the obvious"*On hiatus until the new x-men movie comes out*





	1. Praying the gay away

**Author's Note:**

> Acceptance happens in the strangest of ways, sometimes.  
> \---Dedicated to Joan Lee. May you rest in peace.---

 

When the professor good-naturedly slipped a note with the address to “St. Mary’s catholic church” into his English lit assignment, Kurt did not plan on visiting. It was not that he did not believe there was much to gain from worship at a holy place, in fact he found it a was something he’d wanted to do for a long time. But with catching up on years of lost schoolwork and all the adventures he and the rest of the x-men seemed to get into, there wasn’t nearly enough time to worship regularly.

 

There never really had been back home in Germany either. With all the training and picking up and moving, a traveling circus had never been ideal home to get to mass. In fact, the only mass he had attended was at a local Bavarian church on Christmas day.

 

It was a place where people weren’t as open minded as they were willing to let things slide, if only for one day a year. Not to mention the resident priest had a soft spot for the weird and unfavorable. Sometimes the church was full he’d hold two separate sermons, just too see to both locals and travelers alike. He’d been a strict but good man and although Kurt only ever visited the old stone building once a year, it had felt like a second home.

 

But in light of the neon cross before him, the church of his youth only seems more distant than ever and Kurt is suddenly very unsure that he will find the peace he is looking for here. The brownish gray box doesn’t exactly scream enlightenment either, but there’s a sign hanging inside of the glass doors which reads “open 24/7”, which is admirable considering the place is all but deserted.

 

If nothing else, he thinks he ought to give it a chance. It isn’t like he has much left to loose anyway.

 

* * *

 

The inside of the church is sparse, with two rows of hardwood pews lining a carpeted floor, white walls and only a small altar in wood and a large wooden cross. To the left, a medium-sized stained glass window has been put up as décor only. Kurt scans the room but is sorely disappointed. There’s a confession booth, but it’s stuffed into a corner, clearly not in use, as an American flag has been placed in front of the entryway.

 

He almost convinces himself that it isn’t meant to be and that it’d be rude to walk with bare feet onto the carpeted floors, but only before his curiosity takes over. Instead he ends up walking straight up to the altar like he’s a man on a mission. He picks a candle at random and lights as delicately as he can manage with his three fingers. Then kneels down, clasps his hands and prays.

 

“Dear lord please forgive me for I have sinned. I have gone against my convictions in many ways recently. I have given in to both lust and pride alike and now I am lost. The path to heaven has never seem so far away and I don’t know what to do. I don’t even know what to ask of you. I am sorry. Amen.”

 

The words did not make him feel much better than when he spoke them by his bedside this morning, but it was worth a shot. He considers trying again, but louder this time, when a voice cuts throught the silence.

 

“What’s a young lad like you doing up at 7 am on a Thursday?”

 

Kurt spins around, scrambling to hide his tail and face under his hat and trenchcoat.

 

“Wh-who’s there?” He stutters, cursing himself for not being able to sound more threatening than a small mouse.

 

“Just an old geezer, boy. Nothing to be afraid of.” An old man answers from across the room. He doesn’t seem very threatening with his thinning white hair, cane and big yellow sunglasses, but Kurt’s been wrong before.

 

Wait sunglasses indoors? A cane?

 

“You’re blind.” Kurt’s so relieved he accidentally gives voice his thought.

 

“Yes?” The man responds and plops down on the nearest bench with a groan.

 

“I’m sorry, that was rude of me I–” Kurt tries to apologize, but ends up stumbling up his words, something about the man seems to command respect even though he’s all smile-lines and polo shirt.

 

“Don’t worry about it. Most tend to tip-toe around me these days. Sometimes it hardly feels like they know I’m there.... I respect some good-natured honesty.”

 

Kurt is unsure how to respond. The man doesn’t seem like the kind looking for pity or even a helping hand. But the notion of being excluded because of something you cannot help is something Kurt very much relates to. He wishes there was something but there is not much he can do for a man who cannot see his tricks. Though that doesn’t mean Kurt would feel comfortable simply ignoring the man and returning to prayer after a revelation like that.

 

“Oh… well… I should probably leave you in peace.” He says and makes a move for the exit, but the man let’s his cane shoot out as a barrier, almost tripping Kurt in the process.

 

“No-no. The house of the lord is a place for everyone.” The man says with a smile that’s more denture than teeth.

 

“Even if you’ve done something unforgivable?” Kurt doesn’t know why he shares this. Maybe it’s the attitude of the man rubbing off, maybe the church itself is compelling him to be more forthcoming or maybe it’s just a habit of living in America for so long.

 

Whatever the case, he figures it can’t really hurt since he does not even know this man.

 

“Look kid, I don’t know what trouble you’ve gotten yourself into. But I’ve sat next to soldiers, praying for the men they’ve killed. As long as you regret it, the lord forgives, I’m sure.” The man gestures wildly with both cane and hands alike as he speaks, unknowingly pushing Kurt back into his original spot by the altar.

 

“What if you do not regret it?” Kurt asks, scanning the room for any other possible exit, as he does not want to scare the man, but at the same time does not appreciate being kept in a conversation against his will.

 

“Now, that is a headscratcher for you...” The man pauses for quite some time, scratching his chin not his head, despite his comment.” I guess it depends on why you don’t regret it.” He finally concludes with a satisfied smirk and yet another cane-swipe.

 

“I am not sure I follow.” Kurt answers, just narrowly avoiding being whacked in the head.

 

“If a firefighter chops down a door to save someone, is it the same as a thief chopping down a door to steal? Nah of course not, not even though the door ends up broken either way. One would regret their actions, the other wouldn’t and that’s because I think the lord sees the intention, not the action.” The man explains and Kurt wonders just who the man thinks he is.

 

Discussing theology with a scholar, like a priest or a close friend was one thing, but to be so open in talking about what god intended, now that was not something he was in the mood to hear, especially not when it sounded like an excuse.

 

“With that logic, one could excuse murder.” He states, letting his annoyance seep through just enough to remain polite, but to show that he’d prefer if the conversation ended.

 

Besides, Kurt’s whole problem was that he wasn’t sure _why_.

_(Why had he kissed Peter? Why did his mind latch onto the memory like it was a good thing? Why wouldn’t Peter forgive him or at least talk to him? JUST WHY? )_

 

The man continues, completely unfazed by Kurt’s comment.

 

“If someone got hurt–I’m not saying they did– but if they did, a good rule is to always apologize either way. Sometimes, the only reason someone hasn’t said they’re sorry is because they’re waiting to hear it themselves.” He says and Kurt has just about had enough. But then the man adds an; “My late wife taught me that.” , with a mischievous smile and something about the conflicting expression and the lingering sadness in the man’s voice makes Kurt regret all his negative thoughts about him.

 

This blind old man was only trying to make him, a stranger, feel better, to pass on some wisdom even. It was only because Kurt had been too lost in his own frustration that he did not recognize the kindness for what is was sooner. He can’t believe he considered leaving without even learning his name.

 

“Thank you, Mr.?” He asks, suddenly bashful that he forgot to introduce himself.

 

“Minister Lee.” The man says, slowly pulling himself to his feet once more, using the armrest as support.

 

Kurt’s mind reels, forgetting his filter for the second time that day.

 

“You’re a priest?!” He exclaims.

 

“Yeah-yeah. Now kid, I’m going to have to ask you to leave. I have a wedding at 9 to prepare for.”


	2. The rain check

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summary: Peter tries to run from his emotions and Scott steps in. Also lightly inspired by “A lovely night” from La La Land. 
> 
> !!WARNING!! There’s cursing and internalized homophobia and otherwise not very modern values… like virginity is cool– It’s not, but 80’s.

It had taken two weeks and more than a dozen missed calls for Peter to realize he’d have to reschedule dinner with his mom eventually. But it wasn’t until he received postcard with only the words; ”I still have left-overs”, that he finally picked up the phone. Once he did, she seemed more relieved than annoyed, but only marginally. So he didn’t really have an excuse besides the fact that he’d inherited her stubbornness, he supposed. Well that and…

 

“Don’t forget to tell Kurt he is re-invited too of course. I’d love to hear both of your excuse to why you left my living room smelling like rotten eggs.” She’d said and he’d excused himself almost immediately.

 

He knew his sister would be no doubt listening to the conversation, her curiosity was almost on par with Jean’s. Had she not been even fonder of telepathically picking his brain apart than Jean this would not be much of a problem. He’d never been more glad to be half-way across the state, because if she’d heard how much he didn’t want to talk to Kurt right now or just what the mere mention of his name did to his mind… well let’s just say he’d have to answer questions that he didn’t want to answer.

 

Now, actually talking to Kurt again was not something he didn’t want to do. In fact, that was probably all Peter wanted to do. It just happened to be notoriously difficult since their little night of… whatever the hell that was. Not that Kurt hadn’t tried to act like everything was fine, he’d still invite Peter to join the rest of the gang in their little rule-breaking outings and lunch and to study and ect, ect, ect.

 

It was just that Peter couldn’t spend time with Kurt or well he could but he didn’t want to or actually it was more that he was afraid of what might happen if he spent too much time with the blue elf. So, he’d pretend not to hear or mishear or simply just bolt, restricting any interaction between them outside of class and training to a bare minimum.

 

It was a dick move, Peter knew that, but it wasn’t like he enjoyed it. In fact, he hated it– hated himself, hated what he might say, what he might do. Peter played out many scenarios in is head and none of them ended well, he always ended up _confessing, w_ hich he absolutely couldn’t do. Because even if whatever god Kurt prayed to decided that Kurt could consider him as more than a friend. It’s not like they could get married. He’d be substitute that would get thrown away faster than a spoiled brat’s first barbie. And when Kurt eventually outgrew their little arrangement and decided that he was ready to settle down and live that cozy family life, Peter might just die or worse, turn into his mother and end up with the occasional flask glued to his lips.

 

So really ruining things before they got out of hand was all pure self-perservation.

 

Kurt would understand.

 

If he didn’t, Peter might just have to take a trek down to Mexico, change his name Pedro and never talk to anyone that spoke English ever again… Except his mother would probably have Wanda find his address and send him another postcard and another and another, until he was buried alive–

 

“Dude. You ok?” Scott asks from across their shared room, his hand frozen as if he just forgot to zipping up his duffel half-way up.

 

“I’m just peachy.” Peter replies mockingly, as is customary when dealing with jocks. Technically, Scott wasn’t a jock as the school didn’t have any official sports teams. It was just that his squareness reminded Peter of his first high school experience, but as Peter didn’t really plan to un-bury that dog and talk feelings anytime soon, it wasn’t like it mattered.

 

“So destroying the dry wall is just something you for fun?” Scott says using his best “dad”-voice, which just makes it so much worse, and gestures towards the end of Peter’s bed. It doesn’t take him long to see what Scott’s pointing to, despite the fugly shades covering his line of sight.

 

The postcard his mother sent is sticking out of one of his posters. Not a his favorite one, but it still makes him flinch. He tended to fidget with things while problem-solving, often spinning whatever item faster the more agitated he got. It wasn’t the first time he’d let something go on accident, just this week alone he’d ruined ten pencils and subsequently impaled almost just as many people.

 

Scott taps his foot, his teeth are grinding together and then he clenches and unclenches his fists like he’d rather punch him than have this conversation. Peter briefly considers the merits of an unprovoked attack when Scott sighs and takes the pansy route.

 

“Seriously, Peter, you’re acting like the cops are after you or something.”  If Peter didn’t know their relationship could be summed up by mutual annoyance, he’d say there was some concern behind the words.

 

Then Scott stops to consider his statement.

 

“Are the cops after you?” He asks and Peter decides to never gets his hopes up again.

 

“What the–No!” Peter practically shouts. “And even if they were I wouldn’t need your help.” Peter speeds up and shoves Scott to prove a point. Scott doesn’t take the bait for once and steps back, hands held up in mock-surrender. So Peter figures they’re done and plops back onto his bed, picking up the post-card in the process.

 

But Scott doesn’t leave.

 

“What’s your problem?” He asks, hands on his hips as if power posing would make him even slightly intimidating.

 

“I don’t have a problem.” Peter replies and fake-reads the postcard (as if they both didn’t know it didn’t take him a few minutes to read an entire book and that a postcard took no more than a second)

 

At this Scott’s jaw tightens and he grips the duffel, still unzipped and Peter thinks finally, but no– he continues.

 

“Oh yeah, so why are you back to treating Kurt like shit?” He says.

 

Peter knows it’s bait, so he keeps his voice even.

 

“I haven’t touched a hair on his head?” He answers nonchalantly, like he isn’t aware that he’s been an asshole.

 

“Or said a word to him all week… Do you know how much he talks about you?– vere is Peter? Is Peter zick? Did something haben? –He blames himself for whatever you did.”

 

There’s so many things Peter wants to say to that.

 

Like the fact that it IS Kurt’s fault, that HE kissed him FIRST, that he was the one that turned it into this big deal and then let him close, let him taste– only to act like it didn’t happen, that it wasn’t fair that he got the blame just this once.

 

But he can’t.

 

He’d cry and it’s Scott. So no.

 

Peter would rather die.

 

“In fact, if he didn’t take such an interest in you, you’d still be an outcast!” Scott continues before Peter has a chance to voice any of the thoughts, making it painfully clear that he wasn’t interested in helping as much as lecturing.

 

Despite Peter’s anger and subsequent detachment, the comment still stings.

 

“Maybe I just realized I was happier that way.” He growls, desperately wishing it was true. In reality he knows Scott’s right in that he owes Kurt, it’s in part what makes all of it so complicated.  

 

“How are you still not–?! It’s not about what you want or how you feel anymore. Whether you or I like it or not, you’re an x-man. We are a team. Maybe that doesn’t mean the same to you as it does to me. But I know Kurt at least considers you a friend and friends don’t treat each other like dirt.”

 

After Scott finishes his little rant he takes a step, zips up the bag and flings up the door. Pausing in the doorway to sigh and mumble a shaky “I tried.”

 

“wow. Take a chill pill, man.” Peter calls after him on autopilot.

 

 “Screw you, _man_.” Is all the response he gets as the door is slammed shut so hard it shakes on its hinges.

 

Peter sighs and spins the card once more.

 

If Scott noticed, that means everyone else noticed and that’s… not good, for a number of reasons. For one, that meant that detaching himself to avoid confronting the truth had caused his team mates to worry and if they worried they could find out the truth, which was extremely counterproductive to his cause.

 

For second, after what happened with Mystique, he’d felt like burnt every bridge but one and that he was stuck with these losers now, hell or highwater. Though it was unfortunate Kurt was part of said losers, it wasn’t something that could be changed.

 

So there definitely would have to be a change of plan. If Kurt –my-face-is-an-open-book-Kurt– could act like nothing happened, so could he.

 

* * *

 

 

Apologizing was something that usually came naturally to Kurt, it was just part of being raised alongside a society that emphasized politeness so much it was built into basic speech. Yet, he was curled up on a chair in the library, re-reading the assigned chapter for English lit, a third time, instead of pounding on his best friend’s door.

 

Despite “The old man and the Sea” being the possibly most boring book he had the misfortune of reading, it was still better than the thought of having to face Peter without an excuse or just something to lessen the guilt.

 

Not that this was _all_ his fault. How was he supposed to apologize when the person he was trying to apologize to wouldn’t even look at him?

 

Just yesterday, when he thought he was ready to finally just say sorry, he’d asked Peter if he could borrow a pen and had found one sticking out of his desk as an answer. Kurt was not easily upset, preferring to give people the benefit of the doubt or turn the other cheek, but _that_ , that kind of hurt. Though maybe he deserved it? 

 

He had not only kissed someone without permission, but then goaded said person into sexual activities and out of any sort of intention of continued relations and marriage. Without any intentions at all actually, as Peter was his _male best friend_ , and not a possible love interest.

On the topic of love interests, what was even the point of this book? Kurt flips the page and there’s still no sign of the marlin. Probably wouldn’t be for at least two more chapters, he figures. Why did American author’s even love fish so much? At least moby dick had some suspense in it…

 

Suspense....Did he really need more of that in his life?

 

His mother’s horrified face and Azazel’s limp form flashes before his eyes. Only to be replaced by Peter’s winners smile.

 

_Ugh._

 

No, he did not need more suspense in his life and definitely no romantic subplot. Growing up he’d always wanted to be an adventurer of some kind. Exploring the world, beating up monsters, saving the girl…

 

As he got older, he realized that it wasn’t very likely he’d be able to do any of those, but the last one least of all. Sure, he’d daydream about having a family and he played the part of the overprotective brother when his sister started dating. He had even awkwardly tried to flirt as part of his act once, but ultimately it was all a front. 

 

Kurt was very well aware that it was very unlikely anyone would ever see past his “unconventional looks” to even be considered a good friend and a slim to none chance that anyone could consider taking him as a lover.

 

So he’d focused on picking up as many languages as he could, picking up loose change around the circus, praying that if god wouldn’t let know love, that he could one day travel by himself and see what the rest of the _detusche democratic republic_ was like. He never expected to be kidnapped and taken cross-country just for standing in line to get rations, with his big plans lost, still in a caravan south of Munich.

 

_Be careful what you wish for?_

 

Kurt had gotten his adventure for sure, but he had lost the only home he had ever known and without even as much as an address to send a letter to. Not that he hadn’t been exceptionally blessed to find a new home, here in Salem. after everything, his friends were closer than his adoptive mother and sister had ever been. It was a different kind of family… that he’d gone and thrown into the lake now, he supposed.

 

Maybe he was like Santiago?

 

Fighting a gigantic fish simply to keep his pride, only the fish was his guilt. For a moment he considers putting that in his essay, except mentioning anything about his conflict with Peter would definitely send the professor’s concern his way. One brain-picking later and Kurt was sure he’d be sent packing.

 

Then again, one bad night does not a homosexual make… did it? –DID enjoying all the things Peter did make Kurt– a homosexual?

 

Kurt sits upright, blinking a few times as the thought sets in.

 

Him– a homosexual?

It’s a weird thought to have. Even in an as open environment as a circus, sexuality was not the public affair in the GDR as it was in America. There had been a don’t ask don’t tell mentality between fellow carnies. In general relationships were kept on the down low in fear of losing the conservative crowd. But homosexuality, sodomy in particular? Surely that could not have been accepted even in secret?

 

Sodomy was sin worth a one way ticket to hell, even for the otherwise good non-believers. It brought disease, bad luck and was otherwise unseemly. Not mention homosexuals were notorious predators, assaulters more than lovers. It was fact, at least he’d thought so growing up… But his American history books said other things than his german ones and die Spiegel had blamed AIDS on the Americans, not the queer… So maybe it was just a bias on his part?

 

He was sure there was at least one good homosexual out there.  
  
In fact, he probably wouldn’t have minded befriending someone like that.

 

It was just–He didn’t want– Kurt just wasn’t _like that_.

Not that Peter would see it that way. 

 

… Did Peter see it, _that way_?

 

Kurt hadn’t gotten any prior indication from Peter that everything up to the victory celebration wasn’t just a regular close friendship. Sure, they’d been slightly more physical than what he was used to. But this was America and most things didn’t work like he was used to.

 

Yet the things Peter did, the ways his hands had roamed, the way his mouth had traveled… Was _Peter_ a homosexual?

 

Not likely. Even if he was– Kurt wasn’t– Even if was– It– he.

 

Kurt tilts his chair back in frustration.

 

He doesn’t want to know the answer, he realizes. Just the thought of Peter being the way one would be with a woman with some _man_. It’s disgusting. Sinful. Kurt knows he should be accepting, forgiving, but the thought just makes him so angry–

 

–And guilty. What right did he have to say anything about Peter’s body? Peter’s life?

 

He wasn’t a family member, or not even a friend anymore, by the looks of it.

 

He wasn’t Peter’s anything.

 

That was the most horrifying part, because despite everything Kurt didn’t want their relationship to end.

 

In fact, that’s the opposite of what Kurt wants.

 

He wants someone to shake him out of it, wants someone to tell him it’ll be alright, someone to hug him a bit too tightly and distract him with videogames.

 

In other words; Kurt _wants_ his _bester freund_ back.

 

“I take it you can’t get through Hemingway either?” A familiar voice says from across the table and Kurt falls off his chair.

 

“Ach!” He yells as he tries to pushes his tail against a bookshelf to cushion his fall. A short but loud “Peter!–” Is all he manages before kissing the floor.

 

“You ok?”

 

Kurt thinks he might have a concussion, Peter’s voice sounds garbled and small, but it isn’t important. What’s important is that Peter’s _here_. It has to be a _sign_. He has to–

 

“Peter I–“

 

But Peter interrupts him by “helping” him to his feet.

 

“Ah-ah-ah. Me first.” He says.

 

Kurt only grabs the side of his head in an effort to get the world to stop spinning. If he didn’t feel dizzy before he sure does now.

 

“So. Thing is. I– I’ve been a dick. There’s just no way around that. I just disappeared again, even though I said I wouldn’t–I’ve been the opposite of cool a– ”

 

“like Scott?” Kurt interrupts on pure instinct.

 

At this, Peter’s entire face softens.

 

“Worse than Scott.” He says, the hint of a smile just visible in the corners of his mouth.

 

The world starts making sense again, so Kurt drops the hand to rest at his side.

 

“And you didn’t disappear.” Kurt says smiling, because Peter didn’t forsake his duties as far as Kurt’s concerned. All his reasons for missing him had been selfish. “You showed up to practice?”

 

“Right.” Peter agrees, then his gaze twists downwards, like he’s nervous, anxious even. “Point is that…I’m sorry.” He grabs Kurt’s hand as he speaks, only daring to look up once their fingers are as linked as can be. He looks terrified.

 

So, Kurt hugs him, not thinking twice about it.

 

Peter, somewhat reluctantly, returns the embrace. But once he does, he holds him close, and even goes as far as to bury his face in Kurt’s hair.

 

“I’m sorry.” He mumbles again.

 

They just stand like that for a while.

 

Just listening to the other’s breathing.

 

Kurt’s not sure who breaks away first. Just that the moment they do, he’s reminded that he hasn’t even gotten to apologize.

 

“Peter, I’m–” Kurt starts, but only gets half the apology out before Peter speaks up again.

 

“Hold your horses– Before you forgive me please just let me make it up to you?” He begs with that tone that Kurt never quite knows how to read. Is it a joke? Is it serious? He honestly can’t tell.

 

“Make it up to me?” He asks.

 

“I might’ve re-scheduled dinner with my mom, and Wanda– who got waaaaay to excited by the way, y’know because we left her livingroom smelling like rotten eggs. So now they’re sort of expecting you.”  He rambles, barely giving Kurt a chance to process before he stares him down with big brown eyes.

 

It confuses Kurt so much he end up speaking without filter.

 

“Why would Wanda get excited?” He asks.

 

“That’s what you got outta that? How do you not–?” Peter sighs mid-sentence. “She adores you man.” He says almost bitterly, pulling his fingers from Kurt’s in the process.

 

But Kurt can still not wrap his head around anyone adoring him. Much less a girl like Wanda.

 

So “Oh.” Is all he says.

 

Peter visibly deflates.

“Was that a no? I completely understand if it’s a no. I can tell them you had homework or something…” 

 

“Peter!” Kurt interrupts this time.

 

“Yeeees?” Peter drags the word out. The point of which is lost on Kurt.

 

“Of course I’ll go.” He says nonetheless.

 

“R-really?” A smile is spreading across Peter’s face as he speaks and for the first time in a long time, Kurt feels bold.

 

“Of course, your mother has the nicest home I’ve seen in America.” He jokes.

 

“It’s the only American home you’ve been into.” Peter counters.

 

Then he shoves at him, playfully of course, and just like that everything feels like it might be okay.

 

Except Kurt would still has to apologize. Sometime.

 

Maybe it’d be better to wait. If things really were back to normal, he’d hopefully have a whole forever to look forward to with his best friend.

 

 

* * *

 

 

”Ah, Ms. Maxim–Magda, you are really a good chef!” Kurt exclaims happily as he leans back on his chair, balancing on the back legs with the help of his tail, before remembering that he is a guest and balancing on chair is a terribly rude thing to do.

 

Magda doesn’t seem too bothered though and replies with earnest laughter and a;

”You are too kind, Kurt.”

 

But Kurt doesn’t think he is. The food had been delicious; roasted turkey, mashed potatoes, gravy and apple pie. Granted all they were all new flavors so it was hard to say if it was because they were a novelty or if Magda was just really skilled.

 

Technically he’d had pie and mashed potatoes, of course, but as everything was rationed back home, his experience with confectionaries was limited and he was sure his mother would have scolded him for wasting supplies if he ever tried putting carrots, green beans and cheese into the mash.

 

Kurt knew there was no use thinking of his mother and sister back home. With the east and west having little to nothing to do with one another, there was just no way for him to contact anyone on the other side, especially not a traveling circus that rarely stayed more than a week or two in one place. Any letter he’d send would surely get lost. That didn’t keep Kurt from writing them though, he kept a pile of the best ones in his dresser so he’d be ready if the opportunity presented itself.

 

Wanda’s voice cuts through his musings.

 

”Look what I found!” She calls from the other side of the room and Kurt sheepishly realizes he hadn’t even noticed her getting up.

 

She’s moving towards them, waving a leather-bound folder of some kind.

 

“Is that what I think it is? ”Magda replies, using the table as support to reach the item.

 

Wanda hands it over with a smile.

 

“I thought we’d lost it.” Magda mumbles to herself as she strokes the cover with gentle hands.

 

”What is it?” Kurt asks taking care to zig zag around the table instead of teleporting.

 

”It’s a photo-album from the kids early years. The only thing their no-good father left me was one of those polaroid cameras, so I thought I might as well use it.” Magda explains as she flips the cover open. Her voice is that of a woman scorned and it comes as a surprise to Kurt that someone as strong as Magda was one to hold on to resentment. Then again, Kurt finds the idea of _Magneto_ ever owning something so sentimental like a polaroid camera equally unlikely so maybe he isn’t the best judge of character.

 

His surprise is short lived though as all bitterness melts off Magda’s face the moment she lays eyes on the pictures and the conversation comes to a stop once more. In lack of better things to do, Kurt turns his attention to the album in question, eyes searching unfamiliar scenes for a familiar face.

 

The first picture that draws Kurt’s attention is a small boy, no more than three, but hair already silver. He’s smiling at the camera, proudly showing off the gap where his front teeth once were. The only thing more bizarre than seeing his _bester freund_ like this is the fact that though the picture is clearly taken indoors, Peter is wearing a padded helmet.

 

”Peter played hockey?” He asks, uncertain what to make of the picture.

 

”Oh, no. You see, Peter was never very patient.” Wanda snickers at this and Magda gives her a _look_ before she continues.” He was born three months early, actually. The doctor said it was a miracle he survived, they’d never seen anything like it.” This time, Magda’s story is interrupted by a rattling cough.

 

Before Kurt has the chance to ask if she is well, she’s lit another cigarette and moved on– a practice that never stopped puzzling him. Being raised with the outdoors only an arms-length away, he never could understand why the Americans had this need to smoke in-doors when it became so awfully stuffy. (He’d heard rumors that the cityfolk in east Berlin was much the same, but he had no way of knowing for sure.)

 

”Anyway. Peter couldn’t ever keep still, kept trying to skip crawling to run straight away. But when you’re born too early, you end up all scrawny, so he kept loosing balance, y’know?” Magda trails off, shaking her head at the memory.

 

“Is that why you put the helmet on?” Kurt asks, still unsure exactly why loosing balance would merit full on head gear.

  
“Hah, no. It was because by the time he was 8 months old, he got into climbing.” Magda continues. “I swear, if he wasn’t escaping his crib, he was trying to climb the high chair or the table or a bookshelf or the sofa… After he tried to climb the TV and managed to pull it ontop of him – it was a big set too, I thought he’d die!– that’s when I resorted to putting a helmet on him.” She says it all with humor in her eyes, but the way she wrings the golden bangles around her wrists makes Kurt think the whole “thought’d he’d died” part must have been traumatic. But Magda seems unperturbed by Kurt’s eyes, falling back into her own thoughts yet again.

 

“Guess I should’ve known, right?” She says after some pause.

  
At that, Kurt can’t help but to snicker. Wanda is less discreet and let’s out a loud snort right next to Kurt’s very sensitive ear and he wonders when exactly she got so close.

 

”Pffft. That’s nothing.” She says and flips a page or two. “Wait until you see the class photo from 1st grade!”

 

It takes Kurt longer than he’d care to admit to see what she means. There’s no familiar mop of silver and the picture is surprisingly clear, no one’s moving. At closer inspection there is, however, a child wrapped like a mummy in autumn leaves. A child with mirthful brown eyes.

 

”Is that…. Peter?!” Is all Kurt manages, words caught between disbelief and amusement.

 

”He did it for years! Just because mom made him wear an actual dress shirt.” Wanda stifles laughter as she shows him two more pictures, each with a more ridiculous leafstatue in Peter’s place.

 

”Claimed it ”made him look like the man”.” Magda fills in with a rueful smile.

 

Before Kurt gets a chance to ask anything more, there’s a _woosh_ and Peter’s standing in the doorway.

 

”You called.” He says with a wink towards Kurt, but freezes when he notices the album.

 

”No.” He says and appears behind them, towering over Wanda. “You didn’t.”

 

”Oh, yes I did.” Wanda says with a smirk more fitting of a hungry wolf than a teenage girl.

 

Peter looks like he might attack, but the watchful gaze of their mother makes him falter and he swipes the album instead, eyes scanning the pages at record speed.

 

”The leaves? Really?” He groans.

 

”uh– huh.” Wanda replies in a sing-song voice and leans back on her chair, much the same way Kurt had once done, to look her brother in the eye.

 

Peter is silent for a while, then he strokes his chin in mock contemplation.

 

”Well who am I to ruin the fun?” He says, identical smirk to his sister in place, and starts flipping through the album.

 

Wanda’s mask of confidence crumbles and she glares at her brother in a way that suggests she knows exactly what he’s going to do.

 

”So. Now that we’re sharing. Have you seen the duckbath picture?” Peter teases, purposely avoiding his sister gaze.

 

This seems to be all the indication Wanda needs as she yells an annoyed; ”Peeteeeer!”  before launching herself off the chair, making a move to tear the album from Peter’s hands. But it’s too late, Peter’s already across the table, the album laid before them for all to see.

 

A whole spread is dedicated to an adorable picture of a baby girl, no more than two, having the time of her life in what seems to be a birdbath, surrounded by plastic ducks. A proud Peter in swimming trunks is filling it up with what appears to be the garden hose.

 

Wanda smacks her head with the back of her hand. “Touché, brother, touché.”

 

* * *

 

 

It’s already past midnight when they decide to finally start moving back home. The stars are peaking through the occasional wispy cloud but for once it seems rain is nowhere in sight. The sight has Peter awestruck for a while, it was a long time since he slowed down long enough to just watch the sky.

 

He used to do it all the time, but that was way back when he was still a kid and his powers coupled with the natural restlessness of childhood made it impossible for him to sleep. He had loved zipping around the neighborhood, looking into classmate’s windows and playing pranks on unsuspecting pooltoys, bikes or pets. (In his teens he’d simply made the switch to taking everything that wasn’t chained in the backyard, bringing it home if it was fun enough and mounting it on cars or roofs if it wasn’t.)

 

“Peter? Could we walk, just for a little bit?” Kurt’s voice startles him, he was expecting him to teleport outside.

_Who even used front doors when they had powers?_

 

Kurt did.

 

He had wanted to be polite, he’d said, but Peter figured the poor guy was really just afraid of accidentally making the house smell like scorched sulfur again. It was admirable how out of his way Kurt could go just to make a good impression. That being said, now that they were outside, Peter’s body was practically humming with excess energy. If Kurt wanted to walk home because of some precieved “politeness” he’d have to do so himself.

 

“Why would you want to walk?” Peter asks.

 

“Just, you know, I’m not used to having this much food in one go, American servings really are huge, you know?” Kurt says rather unconvincingly. It sounds like a bullshit excuse with so much fidgeting and too many “y’knows”, but Peter’s not really in the mood to risk vomit on his custom nikes just to prove a point.

 

“Oh. Uh sure.” He relents and they start walking through his old hood, snail style.

 

They don’t talk, but the way Kurt keeps fidgeting with his tail makes Peter think there’s something he wants to say, but every time Peter looks at him, he refuses to meet his eyes. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what’s on his mind.

 

“Out with it.” Peter says because he doesn’t have the patience to get home _after_ sun rise.

 

“What?” Kurt stops in the middle of the road, eyes wide and clutching his tail like blanket.

 

It’s adorable… objectively speaking of course. So adorable that Peter usually would have let him off the hook, but after a whole night of socializing and stepping around awkward questions like; _Why did you leave last time? Do you want to go to college? When will you get a job?_ Peter doesn’t have the energy to be anything less than annoyed.

 

So all he does is give Kurt a _look_.

 

“Fine” Kurt drops the tail, flexes his hands and stands a bit straighter. For a moment Peter thinks he’s going to vault or something, then yellow eyes meets his and Kurt visibly falters.

 

“…well– I. I’m sorryforkissingyou.” He mumbles then charges past him.

 

“wait what?” Of all the ways Peter expected this conversation to go, this was not one of them. It takes him a moment just to process that _he_ was the one being _apologized_ _to_.

 

“Nevermind. I think I’m ready to teleport now.” Kurt, on the other hand, seems to have done a 180 and is now focused on reaching the institute via mild jogging. Naturally, Peter keeps up way too easily.

 

“Kurt.” He calls and tries reaching for his shoulder, but Kurt shakes off his hand.

 

“No, forget I said it.” Kurt says through gritted teeth, his voice sounds garbled, like he’s going to cry, but he can’t cry. He’s Kurt; naïve, loud, kind Kurt. Tears belong on his face just about as much as a tiger does at an international space station. So Peter steps in front of him, blocking his path.

  
“Kurt.” He says once more and Kurt stops, but does nothing more than stay eerily still, locked in a staring contest with the sidewalk. Peter still counts it as a win.

 

“You don’t have to apologize.” He continues because even though hearing someone else admit that it wasn’t all on him was a relief, any relief from said excuse was canceled out by Kurt’s palpable sadness. Peter might be proud, but he wasn’t a sociopath.

 

“I’m just as guilty if not more. I–I’m the one that–” He continues but he loses track of whatever he was going to say by a certain three-fingered a hand grasping hold of his shoulder.

 

“No.” Kurt says with a finality Peter’s never heard from him before. “I kissed you first and I could have stopped you, that’s why this is all my fault.”

 

Peter doesn’t agree.

 

First off, all Kurt had done was mumble something that sounded like a yes for Peter to turn the situation on its head. So, Peter figured he should take credit for the ideas that followed the kiss at the very least.

 

Secondly, he was used to taking the blame. Kurt clearly wasn’t by the poor brave face he was putting on. Even in the dark, Peter could still see traces of tears in that one bright yellow eye.

 

So he calls it out.

 

“Bullshit.”

 

“What?” Kurt seems taken aback, drawing his hand back to gesture wildly. “It _was_ my fault.” He repeats. “Nothing would have happened if I didn’t ignore everything I’ve been taught to act on some weird _beschissen_ urge.”

 

Kurt practically hisses the last part and even though Peter has no idea what beschissen means, the sentiment is all too clear.

 

“woah, Kurt, calm down! It’s not like you seduced me or anything. I took liberties too.” Peter tries his best to appear calm with muted hand gestures and even tone, but it’s harder than he’d like to admit as his own stress-levels are currently through the roof.  This situation is the exact one he’d been trying to avoid by running those 1001 scenarios through his head in the first place.

“It’s differen’t.” Kurt insists and with that, Peter’s just about had enough.

 

“How?!” He says, rubbing his temples just as much for show as to soothe his burgeoning headache.

 

“Because…” Kurt trails off, but he clearly has more to say and Peter’s not in the mood to wait for it.

 

“Oh my ghhh– Kurt. Either you talk to me or not, this weird half-thing isn’t gonna fly, not this late at night, ok?!” He practically yells at him.

 

Sadly, this has the opposite effect as Kurt doesn’t even make an attempt at continuing, instead pressing his lips together into a thin line. Peter curses his temper and runs his fingers through his hair, trying to figure out if there’s any way out of the situation that doesn’t involve him losing it, because last time they tried to talk it out, he’d clearly gotten way too carried away.

“Look, Kurt, I’m sorry. I know you were raised all “religious” and stuff and sex might be a new concept for you. But it doesn’t matter to me. None of what happened has any meaning that we don’t put on it, alright?” Peter says, turns around and the instant he sees Kurt’s face, he knows he’s fucked up.

 

Again.

 

Because now, Kurt’s body looks fragile, like it’s been thrown off balance and his stick-thin frame now is going to crumble in on itself. Yet, his stare is unyielding, amplified by the slight glow of his eyes in the dark.

 

“Shit nononono. What did I say?” Peter reaches for Kurt out of instinct but Kurt avoids his touch, stepping in to the shadows, as if to protect himself.

 

“Kurt… I’m sure I deserve whatever this is, but I just don’t _understand_ when you don’t talk to me, ok?”  

 

“How could you say that it doesn’t matter?” Kurt voice is barely audible with no lips to follow. The only thing Peter can still make out are his eyes; they’re squinted together, like Kurt’s on the verge of crying.

 

 _Or already is_ , Peter’s mind supplies unhelpfully.

 

“No! come on! You were the one just implying that us fooling around was some sort of sin or whatever.” The words come out more inconsiderate than intended, but Peter’s too tired and to confused and so not used to comforting anyone.

 

“It was.” Kurt says solemnly, turning around so that everything but the very tip of his tail gets swallowed by the shadows. It’s swaying side to side, Peter follows the motion like it’s a pendulum.

 

“aaaand you lost me again.” He says, trying his best to stay on track, despite how hypnotic the motion is.

 

They’re silent for a while, for once Kurt’s the one fidgeting, kicking rocks and ruining his newly purchased flip-flops. Peter’s mind wanders back to the memory.

 

Kurt spent hours trying on shoes, almost driving Peter –who’d been dragged along for advice of all things– completely mad. He’d done it because it was important to Kurt to not leave marks around Peter’s family home, even though Peter had made very clear that he himself had left plenty of marks through the years.

 

 _All of that time– officially a waste,_ he thinks as he watches the pebbles roll out of the dimly light sidewalk and into someone unsuspecting strangers yard. Then he thinks about his bed and how he wishes to wake up in it like right about now.

 

“When I first came here, I didn’t have anyone...” Kurt starts, finally, but then let’s the sentence drop in favor of staring him down, like whatever comes out of his mouth has to be said to eye to eye.   

 

“I’d been taken from my family and everything I’d ever known to fight in a cage. Then I was freed, but I still had no way of contacting my family and everything was suddenly so different… but despite it all I never got a chance to feel lonely. Scott and Jean and Jubilee, they– I was very grateful for their friendship.”

 

Peter’s cuts in because if Kurt’s in a sappy mood and about to go on a rant about how much he loves his friends and how they’re all his new family ect, that might be the literal worst way to let someone down ever and he might as well cut it short.

  
“uh-huh, where exactly are you going with this?”

 

“I still did not feel like I belonged, not even after the almost apocalypse. There was so much I didn’t know, so many things to catch up on. Then I saw you around and I understood you least of all. How could such a cool guy choose to be alone all the time? I wanted to get to know you. I was so happy when you wanted to be my friend…” Kurt stops again looking at him in a way that suggests that he should say something.

 

“Thanks I guess?” Is all his tired mind comes up with.

 

Kurt moves away from the shadows, towards Peter. Then even closer, invading his personal space in a way that would have been deeply uncomfortable had it been virtually anyone else.

 

“I was _so happy_ when you wanted to be my friend.” He insists. “…but, even now that I am close to you it feels like it isn’t enough.”

Something pulling on the inside of Peter’s chest and his head is swimming with more questions than ever. _Why he isn’t enough? What’s wrong with him?_ _Why do they have to have this conversation when he already knows how it’s going to end?_

 

But of course, Peter already knows what’s wrong with him. He’s dirty mutant homosexual with kleptomaniac tendencies, that’s what’s wrong… but hearing it from Kurt wouldn’t exactly make him feel _better_ , so needless to say he leaves his questions unvoiced and posture stiff, as if bracing for a blow.

 

Yet, Kurt seems oblivious to Peter’s inner struggle and intertwines their fingers without a care in the world.

 

“When I hold your hand like this, I am afraid to let go. I don’t _ever_ want to lose you again.” He says squeezing their hands together, all the while searching Peter’s face for _something_.

 

Rejection maybe?

 

And just like that something clicks in Peter’s brain.

 

 _Oh, so that’s what this is about_? He thinks. _He doesn’t want to lose his “bester freund”?_

 

It’s more than he could’ve bargained for after the way he handled things. It’s a relief that his traitor of a heart embraces wholeheartedly by spreading warmth up his neck and into his abdomen. _He still wants to be friends at least_ , it sings _. He isn’t completely disgusted_ , it chimes.

 

“Hey, I don’t want to lose you either.” Peter replies, letting his fingers fold over Kurt’s to show that he isn’t going anywhere. It hurts, but if Kurt still wants him as a friend after everything, he’s sure he could manage given a little time.

 

Then the blow comes.

 

“So…Why did you ignore me?”

 

It’s an innocent question, but one Peter really doesn’t want to answer. He should. Kurt deserves to know just how fucked up he is before forgiving him, he knows this. Yet, he hasn’t been able to bring himself to say the full reason in his head so there’s no way he’ll be able to say it out loud. But Kurt presses on, being the naïve, annoyingly precious guy he is.

 

“Pietro?” He grabs Peter’s face as he speaks.

 

 _Like he’s going to kiss him,_ Peter’s brain supplies unhelpfully and, for a moment, it’s just too much.

 

Peter steps back.

 

“haaah no. We are NOT doing this.” He says, hating the way his voice shakes at the end.

 

“Doing what?” Kurt follows, moving in closer than before, still linked by Peter’s hand.

 

Suddenly, it feels like every inch of said hand is covered by ants and Peter just has to _let go_.

 

Kurt looks confused again, but he waits, the tip of his tail twitching ever so slightly.

 

“Can I just ask you something? –Think of it like a the most hypothetical of hypothetical, like one of the professor’s riddles and or Jean’s thought experiments.” Peter says, unsure where he’s going, but hoping all the while that it won’t end him in even more trouble just this once.

 

“Of course.” Kurt replies with way too much vigor for someone that should have been in bed like two hours ago.

 

“If you hadn’t been all jiggy with Jesus, would you have wanted to… y’know… be with me?” He cringes the moment the words leave his lips, but unfortunately, even he isn’t fast enough to reverse time. Seriously? of all the times his filter decided to disappear this was really not it.

 

_Just. What. The. Fuuuck._

Now, Kurt was going to feel sorry for him and their friendship would be over. Back to square one, without passing go.

 

“I don’t… understand” Kurt stutters.

 

 _Aaand of coure he doesn’t,_ Peter thinks bitterly, taking the excuse at face value.

 

“Of course you don’t.” He accidentally says too, because his filter really is gone– _shit._

 

He really should get out of here, before he fucks up even more, but Kurt is moving into his personal space again.

 

“Do you mean like… d–dating?” He says. Peter notes his face has bone visibly purple, even in the sharp shadows of the street lamps and some part of Peter’s brain must have taken that little fact that as an invite because:

 

“Maybe– If you want” Comes out fully on its own accord.

 

“–Which you don’t because that’d be weird and gross and a sin I know, just forget I asked.” He tries to backpedal, he really does, but just, man, he just threw gasoline on a dumpster fire, didn’t he?

 

The pure fact that he was alive despite his love for self-destruction had to be some kind of world record at this point. 

 

Yet Kurt doesn’t seem as bothered as he is confused. At least he hopes the two are not connected and that Kurt isn’t tilting his head to the side because that he can’t comprehend how disgusting Peter is or something.

 

“Peter, I’m sorry if I was uncl–”

 

Peter doesn’t let him finish, he hears the sorry and panics, scenario number 588 fresh in his mind.

 

_Rejection by apology. It’s happening. Shit-fuck no. Please I– NO._

 

“No! Don’t be. Like I said. Thought experiment. Doesn’t matter. Let’sgohome!” He rambles, accidentally sloshing together the last part into an unintelligible high speed noise.

 

Kurt covers his ears and hisses.

 

“ow–Peter!” He exclaims, tail ramrod straight.

 

“What?” He answers, already mid-step, because how does this guy not take a hint? He doesn’t have to reject him, Peter gets it already!

 

But Kurt is officially the most thickheaded person Peter’s ever met, as he he’s somehow grasped onto his elbow, of all things, digging his claws in just enough to keep him from speeding away unscathed.

 

“I _do_ _want_ to be with you. I _want_ to go on dates. I’d do anything as that means I could keep you.” Kurt gestures wildly as he speaks, even with his tail. It’s like every fiber of his being is trying to make sure that Peter understands every single word.

 

But one still stands out in particular.

  
_Anything._

 

The word echoes through Peter’s mind, spreading heat wherever it touches.

 

_Oh god, anything, that’s not fair, seriously anything? Like kiss him right on the– No– brain focus– NO._

 

“No, that’s not– I don’t want you to be with me because you think you have to. Are you sure you wouldn’t just prefer like casual sex or something?”

 

Kurt cuts him off with a kiss.

 

Peter responds on instinct, running his tongue over Kurt’s lips until he lets him in. Kurt shivers and lets out a low moan the moment Peter’s tongue as much as graces his. So, Peter deepens the kiss, even going as far as to grab a hold of Kurt’s hair, massaging the back of his head in the process, thoroughly enjoying how it makes Kurt lean into him.

 

When they break apart, Kurt looks like he’s either seen a ghost or Jesus Christ himself.

 

“I don’t know how this is possible… but I think I love you.” He practically sighs.

 

Whatever rodent that’s supposed to keep Peter’s hamster-wheel of a mind spinning, stops.

_Really?!_ He thinks

 

“Really?”  He says.

 

“Really.” Kurt confirms, his is smile the widest Peter’s ever seen it and suddenly he’s hearing the words on repeat.

 

Kurt loves him.

 

Kurt, loves him.

 

Kurt loves, him.

 

 _Holy fucking shit balls_ , Kurt Wagner loves him?!

That can only mean one thing, it’s about time to say that one thing his brain didn’t want him to think.

“Well, that’s good because I might, uh–” He starts his tongue almost tying itself into a knot out of pure anxiety ”–loveyoutoo?” Aaaand the last part comes out like a highspeed noise, again.

 

Kurt winces, but doesn’t cover his hears this time.

 

“Sorry.” Peter whispers and offers a hand in apology.

 

Kurt snickers and grasps hold of it, sending a jolt of _something_ down Peter’s spine.

 

“Don’t worry– I love you.”

 

At that, Peter envelops him in a hug “You can’t just–ugh– I love you too.”

 

“So how does dating work in America?” Kurt asks with that curious voice of his.

 

“heh. I have no idea. I’ve never been in a relationship before.” Peter admits, rather sheepishly.

 

At this, Kurt pushes back to look Peter in the eye.  
  
“What? Really?!... but I thought... You seemed so _experienced_ ” Kurt looks at Peter like he’s never seen him before, like he suddenly grew an extra set of arms, like Peter not having a partner is on par with that kind of unbelievable to him.

 

It’s kind of cute how Kurt’s mind is so proverbially out of the gutter that he thinks you have to date someone to get some. A part of Peter kind wants him to stay that clueless forever, just for the pure novelty of getting to wow him with the wonders of life. But it wouldn’t be fair, besides, he’s sure Kurt not _that innocent_ really. No one was _that innocent_.

 

“Well, I’ve made out with my fair share of girls if that’s what you’re asking, but I’ve never… It was never something serious.” Peter assures. Hell, the only one of them whose name he remembered had done it as a dare then used it to humiliate him in front of his entire high school. His previous love life was really nothing to brag about.

 

 “Oh.” Kurt’s voice is small, almost disappointed, though there is no reason for him to be disappointed.

 

That is, unless he actually is _that innocent._

Now Peter just has to know.

 

“Why the sad face? I’m sure you caught the eye of many a maiden back in Munich.” He asks.

 

“Actually… uh… the pleasures of the flesh was never really something I thought I’d experience.” Kurt looks and sounds extremely uncomfortable and Peter wishes he was the one with night vision, just so he could see Kurt’s face.

 

“the pleasures of… are you telling me that _I was_ your first kiss?!” He can’t help the mirth in his voice as he speaks, it’s just too good to be true. There’s no way he’ll ever let that go.

 

Kurt buries his face in his chest instead of answering.

 

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Peter concludes and does an internal victory dance, he’d get to wow Kurt without competion after all. Then again, he shouldn’t have been so surprised considering just how badly their first kiss went.

 

 “Y’know what? That explains a lot actually.” He muses out loud.

 

“Was I that bad?” Kurt asks, head still glued to Peter’s pectorals.

**“** Well… yes.” Peter admits, because if he’s being honest, he’s kissed better kissers **.** “buuut, that only means we’ll have to practice.” He adds tilting Kurt’s chin up just to make sure that Kurt knows he’s still the only one his interested in kissing.

 

“R-right now? Wh–hat if someone sees?” Kurt has the nerve to stutter, even though he had crashed their lips together what? like five minutes prior?

 

Hypocrite.

“As if they could catch _us_.” Peter points out, adding a wink almost like an afterthought.

 

Kurt practically crumbles at this, laughing so loud that Peter worries he might wake up the whole neighborhood. Naturally, Peter decides the best way to shut him up is via kiss. Something he was sure would become a new favorite habit of his.

 


	3. Prom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry it took so long. But here it is. Prom. DUN DUN DUN.

 

“Class dismissed.” Mr. Mccoy says as his 15-minute tangent about cell membranes and molecule structure in prehistoric prions and why “it is not boring it is the reason you all are here ect” finally draws to a close.

 

Finally, because although Kurt would usually not have minded, as he finds biology rather interesting, a certain silver-haired someone cannot be left longer than a few minutes to their own devices. At least if they planned on eating _and_ covering any of the algebra they had planned _together_ and Kurt really didn’t want to polynomials alone.

 

As such, Kurt wastes no time and practically leaps from his desk to get to the door. Somewhere behind him Jubilee calls for him to slow down, to no avail. Kurt’s racing down the hallway like a man on a mission and not a student in a school full of kids with unreliable super powers. Halfway down the stairs, Kurt ends up wiering into a wall in lieu of colliding with one of said kids– who thought the stairwell was an appropriate place to juggle fireballs.

 

On his way down he ends up tearing down a poster.

 

Now, Kurt was fairly used to getting knocked into walls out of sheer clumsiness or a misplaced teleport during training, but so far, the poster was a first. The institute wasn’t that big, so there weren’t too many things being advertised, besides an elective or two. But the poster in his hand wasn’t the regular two tone news flier he’d seen before.

 

This poster was a real poster, with full color and the same kind of gaudy style like the ones of his childhood, except instead of advertising the arrival of the incredible Nightcrawler or the Mysterious Margali, there was a depiction of a disco ball and four, to him, undecipherable letters drawn to mimic a neon sign.

 

“What’s “prom”?” He mumbles to no one in particular.

 

“Hell.” Peter explains and Kurt curses himself for letting his curiosity take the upper hand and lead him astray from his mission… Again.

 

Not that Peter ever let him stray far as he’d made a habit of assuming he was “lost” after waiting no more 10 minutes. A habit that, much to Kurt’s annoyance, meant sometimes meant accosting him even if he was in the washroom.

 

In his defense, Kurt had often tried to point out all the times Peter had left him waiting, but Peter had countered that those were all on purpose, whereas Kurt was too polite and he therefore had no choice to assume he’d been kidnapped.

 

Not that either of them actually believed Kurt was likely to be captured given his ability, it was just a statement that had become an in-joke between the x-men after a particularly bad game of “most likely”. As there wasn’t any actual concern behind Peter’s action, Kurt didn’t really mind. At this point, having the speedster go after him was basically half the joke anyway.

 

Also there was this one time in the mall that Kurt had accidentally wandered into a K-mart, actually got lost and almost got run over by a gang of angry grandmas that thought he was part of something called a “blue light special”. Now, Kurt had no idea what that meant, but he was pretty sure that if Peter hadn’t stepped in, he might have actually gotten his tail torn off.

 

“What are you guys looking at?” Jubilee asks, lunch in one hand, and a book bag slung over the other. Apparently she had the time to go to her locker and back in the time he’d been standing here, he must have hit his head harder than he thought.

 

“Prom?” Kurt asks sheepishly as he hands her the poster.

 

At the mention of the word, it’s Jubilee visibly stiffens.

 

“No way. Really?” She says, making even less sense than Peter. “I was sure Jean would’ve talked to you about that, y’know with us being part of the committee and all…?” She continues, rambling as if nervous.

 

“Committee… I’m sorry I don’t think she has.” Kurt apologizes, even though he isn’t quite sure what he’s implied to understand or if Jean was meant to do anything at all. It was just better to be safe than sorry.

 

Jubilee bites her lip like there’s something she wants to say. Instead she looks at him, then at Peter, then at the poster, then back at him again.

 

“Well.. it’s… y’know? Uh– like a party, but for the whole school.” She says, finally, flashing an awkward smile.

 

“Oh. Well that’s wunderful!” Kurt says, smiling through the awkwardness. As his mother once said; If you ever mess up, it is best to own it with a smile and wave.

 

“Yeah. ‘Wunderful.’ ” 

 

Peter tended to go more for the “own it with sarcasm” route.

 

“You do not want to go?” Kurt asks, visibly bummed out about his friend’s lack of enthusiasm.

 

 “Why would I?” Peter shoots back, with one of his signature eye rolls.

 

“Because it’ll be totally rad. Duh.” Jubilee says while staring as if daring him to imply any different. Peter decides bites his tongue.

 

“Whatever.” He says and leaning against the wall, sulking like he was 5 not 22.

 

For once Kurt lets him sulk and sides with Jubilee. Whatever mood Peter had gotten into, he was sure it wasn’t all about the prospect of a mere party. Sure, Peter could be borderline anti-social at times, preferring hanging out one-on-one or playing tricks, but he wasn’t one to turn down any chances to hang out with his fellow x-men.

 

Though Kurt might be biased. He’d always been curious about the club scene even when he lived in the countryside of the GDR, but as the legal age for drinking was 21 in America, he’d had yet to attend anything of the sort.

 

“It sounds like the bomb, Jubilee! How did you get the professor to agree to this?” He asks.

 

Jubilee snickers.

 

“Well it’s kind of a tradition.” She says and winks cryptically, like she knows something she isn’t letting on. “Also, technically, it’s a party for everyone with a ticket above the age of 14.”

 

Jubilee pulls out one of said tickets as she explains. It’s yellow, like her coat, and reads as follows:

 

_-ADMISSON for one-_

_A night in winter wonderland!_

 

Peter pretends not to be interested, but Kurt feels him lean to read over his shoulder. The sensation makes hope warm his belly. If Peter was feigning disinterest, Kurt knew for a fact that Peter was the most interested in the room. So he turns to him, making sure to put on his best puppy-eyes to convey just how badly he wants to attend, just in case Peter’s pride would get in the way because some perceived “coolness” or whatever.

 

“You are sure you don’t want to go with me?” Kurt asks, expecting to finally win his _freund_ over.

 

But all that happens is an awkward quiet.

 

Peter looks so scandalized you’d think that Kurt suggested they ought to copulate right here in the hallway. Jubilee mirrors said expression with startling accuracy.

 

“Oh –Kurt…“ She starts, using that condescending voice Kurt couldn’t find it in himself to not find annoying, even though he knows she means well.

 

“It’s kind of –You’re supposed to take a girl. Y’know– like a date?” She explains.

 

  1. Kurt feels his stomach drop at the mere thought. He returns the ticket to Jubilee with a sigh.



 

“Oh… I guess I won’t be going then.” He says, forcing a smile onto his face in a what Peter would describe as a “piss poor” attempt at covering his disappointment.

 

“No, don’t say that!” Jubilee says, shoving the ticket back into his hand, then closing it with her own.

 

“Yeah, I’m sure any _girl_ would be lucky to have you.” Peter adds with his most sarcastic fake smile.

 

Kurt just gives him a look, because really? He really thinks he’d do that to him? If Kurt has to bring a date it’d be Peter or none at all. Sure, his jokes sometimes bordered on flirting and he was not the best at reading American social cues, but that was partly because it was rare to find someone that could overlook the whole… blue–thing. Only Peter was that insane and that was one of the many reasons he loved him.

 

“Right.…” Jubilee concludes, even though her tone is pretty skeptical. As if she doesn’t understand how Kurt would be an eligible date. That or she got weirded out by their staring. Both are equally possible and easy for Kurt to forgive.

 

 “Besides–” She continues. “The dating thing is pretty old fashioned anyway– some people do just go as friends.”  She punctuates the last part with a smile and a friendly jab to the side. Something that lifts Kurt’s spirit almost instantly.

 

“Then we should all go together!” He insists.

 

“I’m not sure–” Peter tries to dissuade him, but Kurt is having none of it.

 

“No, Peter, we are a team! We should attend together.” He adds, arms crossed and tail swaying to prove a point.

 

“Yeah. Right… because you’re part of the x-men?” Jubilee says taking a step back, rubbing her arm, her posture has visibly deflated.

 

Kurt hates seeing his friends sad, the whole point of having a party is to make people come to together, no one should feel excluded!

 

So he takes Jubilee’s hands and squeezes hard.

 

“Nein– Jubilee– you’re invited too, of course! You’re an honorary member!” He exclaims, fangs on full display in his widest smile.

 

Something that always earns him a laugh.

 

“pffft… says who?” She asks, eyebrow raised in mock annoyance.

 

“Scott.” Kurt says, even though he’d never heard the man say anything remotely like that. However, he knows that Scott does in fact consider Jubilee a part of their group and he was sure that if anyone asked him, it’d be what he’d say.

 

“Really?” Jubilee laughs at him.

 

“Yes, but I agree.” Kurt returns the favor, dropping his grip on her hands in the process. “–and I am sure everyone else does too.” He adds as an afterthought.

 

At first it looks like Jubilee might call him out on the white lie.

 

But “I –thanks.” Is what she ends up saying.

 

Kurt turns back to Peter, but finds that he’s gone missing somewhere between his blunder and the exchange with Jubilee.

 

“I got to go.” He mumbles half to himself, half to Jubilee.

 

If he hurried, he might find Peter to at least ask about the polynominals before the next period.

 

 “Almost forgot– I heard about what you guys did after the whole kidnapping-thing, “ Jubilee says, making him stop mid-step, her hands gripping his tail just a bit too harshly ”– so fair warning; prom is a booze-free zone.”

 

Kurt rolls his eyes before turning around. Seriously? Americans were so weird about Alcohol, with people like Magneto or Apocalypse at large, it wasn’t like a bit of _bier_ was likely to be the end of them. That being said, Kurt isn’t one to break rules without cause. Especially in a place where he, despite his best efforts, often found himself threading the line of cultural insensitivity.

 

So he makes sure salute her, just so she knows he isn’t stupid enough to break the law for some spirits and a wink, for the way her face lights up at the action.  And for once, the message comes across as intended and Jubilee takes a step back, signaling that Kurt is free to go.

 

* * *

 

 

“I can’t believe you’re making me do this– prom is for losers.” Peter grumbles as he laces up his sneakers.

 

 _An odd choice_ , Kurt thinks, _to wear sneakers to such a formal event._

 

“I told you that you did not have to.” Kurt sighs as he adjusts his bowtie, red to go with the rented tux the professor had been so kind as to provide him with.

 

“You also told me and I quote _zat I vas the vorst american culture tutor ever_. ” Peter shoots back, making sure to emulate the thickest german accent possible, as he did whenever he wanted to emphasize that Kurt was being unreasonable. As if the language barrier was to blame for all their differences in opinion.

 

In that he was sorely mistaken, but Kurt wasn’t easily offended. Especially not about the accident. since he was aware that his English had improved drastically during his time at the institute. It wasbetter that his _freund_ got the annoyance out of his system now, than to sour the mood of the party.

 

So Kurt lets it pass with only a slight roll of his eyes, and instead let’s his attention drift from his sulking friend to the truly pressing matter; how he’d get his feet into his new shoes. Even whilst being hand-me downs from professor McCoy, said shoes still didn’t seem to want to want to lace up without him weaving his claws into the knots in the process.

 

“Still, you did not have to.” Kurt sighs as he accidentally rips the right laces in half, rendering the pair useless for the night at least. He’d just have to pray not to be stepped on and hope for the best.

 

“Hey now! I couldn’t just let everyone think you we’re the only one that could rock one of these–.” Peter teases, motioning to his own black suit, with silver trim and tie, of course. It was a nice piece, expensive-looking, but it hung on Peters frame in a way that suggested it had been bought (or stolen, Kurt hadn’t asked) before he gained any substantial muscle mass. It wasn’t ill-fitting enough to be off-putting, quite the contrary, in an era of over-size fashion, Kurt relished seeing something fitted on the man that wasn’t a muscle tee or battlesuit.

 

“–Besides…We’re a team.” Peter continues, breaking Kurt out of his little too appreciative oogling by grabbing his hand and squeezing it.

 

Kurt feels his face heat. It’s not his fault the suit suited him. No matter what Peter’s mirthful stare implies.

 

And Kurt just can’t keep his eyes from wandering again.

 

And Peter’s never nice about it.

 

“Tsk, tsk, tsk. My eyes are up her buck-o, you’ll have to work on your discretion if we’re gonna through this night without getting caught!” He admonishes, moving in closer, massaging Kurt’s hand suggestively.

 

It takes a while for Kurt’s brain to process the words and the motion. The delay, makes Kurt even more embarrassed than the scandalous implications and that’s saying something considering that only a few weeks ago, the words would have made him flee the scene.

 

 “…getting caught?” Kurt says, just to make sure he isn’t just reading _his own_ sinful wants into it.

 

 “y’know…”  Peter starts, shrugging his shoulders and Kurt thinks that’ll be the end of it. Just another round of banter coming to an end, but then the world storms and shifts and Kurt finds Peter pressed up against him, biting his lip in a very suggestive manner

 

“Doing … things” He continues, leaning in so close enough for his lips to grace his earlobes and a voice just loud enough to not irritate, but low enough that they’ll be the only two to ever hear it.

 

It makes him feel special.

 

“Maybe I’ll have pressed up against a bathroom stall, or the balcony if the time’s right.” Peter wisphers and Kurt instantly wishes the right time was now.

 

 

 _But –Ach–! friends are waiting_ , he reminds himself and makes a point of wrapping his tail round his leg before it gets any ideas.

 

 _Yes, it is definitely not the time_ … Yet, the words leave him so _curious_.

 

“Is that really something –ah– people do at prom?” He says, enunciating a bit louder than necessary, just to solidify that _they’re still planning on going, yes?_ , that Peter truly cannot be suggesting bailing, because if he is Kurt isn’t sure he’d be able to resist.

 

A hand runs down the small of his back, making circles, and Kurt feels his tense nerves get replaced by a relaxed anticipation.

 

“Oh, yes.” Peter assures, as he pulls him into a way too tender kiss.

 

Kurt’s can’t help the half content half disappointed sigh that escapes them as they part. In fact he’s got half a mind to crash their mouths together again. But Peter stops him in his tracks by running his thumb over his lips. His face’s tilted as if to kiss his neck, but instead he pauses just by Kurt’s ear again.

 

 “That and so much _more_.” He practically purrs.

 

And Kurt thinks it’s about time he did something about the smugness in his voice and he runs his hand up the back of Peter’s neck, to pull him into another kiss.

 

This however has the opposite effect as intended as Peter speeds a full step back.

 

“Oh come on! Not the hair, dude! Not. The. hair.” He exclaims, frantically smoothing non-existent stray hairs and effectively killing the mood in the process.

 

 

* * *

 

 

The school is full of losers.

 

Losers and nerds that all have a hard on for prom, all jumping and laughing and being all kinds of excited. Peter is sure it has to be some sort of safety or fire code or just human rights violation, to be subjected to a night of this.

 

He’s only been there what? 2 seconds? And already he feels like throwing up, but who could blame him when the entire place smelled like hairspray, funfetti and teenage angst?

 

_Wait. Is that stereo is blasting girls just wanna have fun?!_

 

Scratch that, it’d be a miracle if his lunch didn’t end up on the professor’s precious wooden floors.

 

“Let’s get this party starteeeed!” Jubilee shouts from somewhere to his left and it’s like the starting round of a race.

 

Kurt’s quick to grab him by the elbow and combined with taunting from Oruro, Peter’s pushed straight onto the dancefloor.

 

The other’s get straight to it, shaking and nodding and moving to the beat. Kurt’s surprisingly good for someone who swore they’d never been to such a big party before. He somehow manages to dance by himself and with both Oruro and Jubilee at the same time. Oruro’s got som wicked spins and Jubilee can twirl.

 

Peter can’t really do anything–We’ll except moon-walk, but that’s impossible to pull off in such a tight crowd. All the things in his small repertoire were learned on his own for highspeed solo fun-time use only. He can’t really pull off any of the things the other’s seem so comfortable doing.

 

 

* * *

 

 

So he pretends not to care, making over-exaggerated moves to get a cheap laugh or just awkwardly swaying, pretending he’s looking for something or someone in the crowd. The problem with the latter strategy is that he ends up getting blinded by the strobe lights or getting stranger-danger eye contact.

 

It’s not his idea of fun, but he has to admit it isn’t the worst thing in the world. That is until his pretending makes him inattentive enough to get an elbow to the shoulder, a push to the back and –thump– just like that he’s on the floor. His friends lost in the sea of students. 

 

To his credit, he was quick to get back up, moving in a circle touching the shoulder of anyone remotely similar to his friends. It was just that with the flashing lights blinding him every time his eyes tried adjust, it proved difficult to find anything other than blurry shapes.

 

Was that guy blue or was it a girl in a very bad prom dress? Was that girl’s jacket yellow or maroon? Were those shades or regular glasses?

 

He sure as hell couldn’t tell.

 

After a whole turn of his awkward shuffling round the dancefloor, all Peter’s got to show for it is clammy hands and a headache. He briefly considers using his powers to escape, but the thought of accidentally tripping Kurt along with the whatever other students happened to stand in the way makes him hesitate. It’s not an ideal solution, but he honestly thinks he’ll go insane if– aaaand Oruro’s got him by the arm.

 

“Peter. Where have you been?” She asks, voice barely audible over the beat.

 

“Around.” Peter replies with a smile, too happy about being rescued to keep sulking.

 

Oruro tries to speak again as she drags him across the floor, but her mouth is turned away and he doesn’t catch a word of it. The next thing he knows, he’s in the middle of the dancefloor where a circle of disgustingly excited teens has formed. They’re all watching something, a fight maybe?

 

He’s not too jazzed about whatever it is, but Oruro motions for him to get closer. So, he pushes forward, all the way to the front of the crowd and ends up crammed between Jubilee and some blonde kid with too much gel in his hair. Then he sees who’s at the center and his jaw drops all the way to the icy pits of hell.

 

Kurt is break-dancing.

 

He he’s full on popping and locking, back-flipping, hand-standing, break-dancing.

 

He’s beyond good at it too. Every movement he makes is deliberate, easy as water flowing through a river, punctuated to the beat. The muscle control it takes do something like it is just–

 

 _Hot_.

 

The crowd agrees and shouts words and whistles of encouragement. In turn Kurt graces them with one of his best smiles, the one that show off his fangs in all their glory. Then he tumbles again, hair wiping wildly as he goes down, ending the little performance with a literal tail-spin.

 

As soon as he’s done the music fades into Lionel Ritchie. Which is not music that’s the very break-dance friendly and there seems the crowd starts to disperse, leaving the floor empty save the odd couple.

 

But just because the crowd’s ready to let it go doean’t mean Peter is.

 

“That. Was. Amazing!” He shouts as he claps Kurt on the back, letting his hand linger on his opposite shoulder in an awkward side hug, just in case anyone else that saw his little show got any ideas. Kurt leans into the touch subconsciously and Peter almost let’s his hand drop lower– to grab hold of his waist and pull him in for a kiss– but Kurt turns and Peter remembers.

 

Their friends. They’re in public. In the middle of a crowd.

 

Peter drops the shoulder faster than a game of hot potato, he really was a hypocrite for telling Kurt to be discreet, wasn’t he?

 

Oruro reaches them first.

 

"You got some wicked moves!” She exclaims, punching Kurt’s arm playfully.

 

Jubilee seems flustered from all the dancing and opts out of speaking in favor of giving Kurt  a high three.

 

Then she freezes and bites her lip like she’s just remembered something

 

“Have you guys seen Scott and Jean?” She asks.

 

Oruro shakes her head.

 

“Nein.” Kurt says, suddenly bashful, probably for “forgetting his friends” or some other bullshit. Even though it was the two of them that had bailed the moment they’d walked in the door.

 

“Probably making out in some corner.” Peter adds, just to clarify that he has no interest in finding them, not even with his skillset. He he _just_ found his Kurt again after all.

 

“Peter!” Oruro chides and delivers a well-timed elbow to his midriff. The look that goes with it reads _you_ _’_ _re an x-men yada yada yada.._. and that finding the lovebirds for the slowpokes is exactly what’s expected.

 

“Fine. I’ll go get some punch. you want to have some punch? I want some punch.” He grumbles.

 

“Sure?” Kurt says, out of the loop as usual. He’d make sure to get them a glass each on the way back, just for him being so precious.

 

“Sounds like a plan.” Oruro says with smug little grin that’d definitely demanded retribution once they finally got back to sparring in the danger room.

 

“No thanks. Pretty sure it’s spiked.” Jubilee sighs.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It doesn’t take long for Peter to find them. It’s just– he doesn’t know what to do now that he has, I mean, everyone could see Summers had the hots, but Jean was harder to read… But there they were, devouring each other’s faces just left of the bathroom doors, like there was no tomorrow.

 

_Gross._

 

He didn’t think it was possible to get scandalized by two squares, but he’d coughed and stared and waited and NOTHING. They’d been at it for at least five minutes without even breaking apart for air.

 

 _That punch better be spiked with brain bleach,_ Peter thinks as he turns on his heels and heads towards the solo cups. Except there are no solo-cups, there’s only fancy crystal glasses.

 

For someone that could read minds, the professor sure had naively high hopes for people. That or he had a lot more bank than Peter had realized, like maybe he should’ve just gone for the silver when he had the chance?

 

He fondles one of them.

 

_Yup. Definitely the real deal. Heavy too._

 

Seriously though, as fancy as they were, how was he supposed to carry enough crystal glasses for all of them with only two hands?

 

He could go back and forth, sure, but that’d be a waste of his hot date who just happened to be  a teleporter with a tail perfect for carrying. All he had to do was to grab his attention and– They’re gone.

 

His group is nowhere to be seen. Peter scans the room, twice, before finally realizing that Kurt’s  actually where he was a moment ago, only he’s talking to someone Peter’s never seen before.

 

A girl.

 

She seems innocent enough. Brown hair in a bun, with small flower pins, baby pink dress, looks about his sisters age. He might even call her kind of unassuming.

 

That is until she laughs and grasps Kurt’s hand, pulling him towards the dancefloor.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Come on blue boy, let’s see if you’re as good at slow-dance as you are at shaking it!” The girl says, out of nowhere, and grabs his arm with a strength that feels borderline unnatural for her age.

 

Staying at Xavier’s instituted for gifted youngsters should have prepared him to expect the unexpected but this was too much. They’d just been talking about his dancing, he’d been polite, but not overly excited, so why was this stranger pulling him towards the dancefloor.

 

Moreover, where were his friends in a situation like this?!

 

Where was Peter?

 

For a man with his talents, getting drinks were really taking forever.

 

“Ah– I really must–” Kurt tries to explain, that he’s not interested, that really he’s here with someone and he just _finished_ dancing, but she ignores his protests.

 

“Just. Relax. I’m–look I just made a bet with that guy over there–” she points to a blonde guy with gel-slicked spikes that look more like melting icicles than hair with the amount of product in them. ”–that he’d get me all the Slurpee’s I wanted if I could get one dance with you. ”

 

At this point, Kurt has convinced himself the lord must be testing him. But what was the right choice in an awkward situation like this? Would it be more prideful to say yes, because he was flattered or no, because he didn’t want to get embarrassed?

 

His hesitation must’ve showed as the girl finally stops at the edge of the swaying couples.

 

“I’m sorry, I guess I shouldn’t have told you that.” She rambles. “– I just– I thought you were really cool and y’know– I’ll just leave.”

 

And Kurt pities her, even though knows he shouldn’t. She’d been rude, even by American standards. It’s just, judging by the way she asked him, this entire situation must’ve been really out of her comfort zone as well. It takes a lot of nerve to ask a stranger for a dance. Maybe that was the lesson here? To overcome discomfort to learn something new.

  
“What harm is one dance?” He decides and offers a hand.

 

The girl takes it, but still doesn’t seem convinced.

 

“As long as you share the prize of course” He adds just to make sure that it’s all in good fun.

 

“Deal.”

 

And that’s where the situation went right back to akward. Kurt had always had a knack for dancing, but somehow being this close in proximity to a stranger seems to cancel out any previous skill he’d acquired. Luckily she seemed just as uncomfortable as him and didn’t protest when he kept his hands at her shoulders and their bodies at least a foot away from touching.

 

“How come I haven’t seen you around, even though you’re blue?” She asks, clearly trying to diffuse the awkward silence that settled between them.

 

“Maybe you are not very observant?” He replies without thinking.

 

“Wow. Ruuuude.” She counters, but smiles all the while.

 

“Sorry.” He adds with a shrug, just because it’s supposed to be said when he’s been rude, even when in good fun.

 

She laughs at this.

 

“I think I like you. What’s your name, mr-blue-guy?” She asks.

 

“Kurt, Kurt Wagner.” He replies in a moment of brilliance.

 

“That’s a pretty poor James Bond impression, but I’ll take it.” She says and they laugh together at the utter ridiculousness of everything. It almost makes Kurt forget that they’re technically strangers.

 

Then something shatters.

 

Kurt stops in his tracks, making the girl bump into him out of surprise, or well she would’ve bumped into him if she didn’t go _through_ him. She manages to grab hold of his tail on her way down, steadying herself just in time.

 

Kurt ignores the pain and focuses on pinning down where the noise came from.

 

It’s wasn’t too loud and probably isn’t a cause for alarm, but Kurt’s an x-man and that means he’s been trained to pick up things like that before it’s too late. Even in a safe haven such as this– especially in a safe haven such as this. Kurt’s first thought is Magneto, his second, more rational part thinks it must be some poor kid probably just lost control of their powers.

 

Then a gust of wind hits him and he notes that the pair that were dancing next to them a mere second ago are sprawled out floor. As is another just to the left, the ones that were dancing conveniently close to the door to the shut off balcony, of which the off limits sign is now ajar.

 

His heart aches.

 

_Peter._

 

“I have to go.” He mumbles as he imagines the cold stone railing of the balcony, the vines wrapped around hidden under a layer of ice and snow.

 

Then he remembers the girl is still holding his tail and he tears it from her grip on pure instinct.

 

“The name’s Kitty, Kitty Pryde.” She says with an expression that reads as curious, more than confused.

 

“I’ll see you around, Kitty Pryde.” Kurt replies with a curt nod and all that’s left is a gust of smoke.

 

 

* * *

 

 

It’s not quiet, the wind is strong enough to ring in Peter’s ears, but there’s no voices and no people.

 

_Perfect._

 

Peter grips the railing, letting the frost bite his palms, enjoying the makeshift clarity the wind and cold brings to his restless senses. If he closes his eyes, the wind can almost drown out the echo of Cindy Lauper and for a moment he pretends he really is alone, that there isn’t just pane of glass and bricks between him and a bunch of horny overexcited teenagers.

 

His entire body hums, _leave_ , his feet say, _do what you do best– RUN._

 

But he stands still or as still as one’s body allows one to be while trying to stay alive in be in below 32 degrees. It’s one of the reasons he hates winter so much, that and the little fact that when everything is frozen, it makes it so much harder to tell what pace he’s going at..

 

Then there’s the smell of Sulphur and everything stops for real.

 

Peter turns, slowly, even though he’d been expecting this, wanting this even.

 

It’s weird to see Kurt like this, half there and half not. He looks like a frozen Christmas ghost against the icy ground, three-fingered hand still stretched out, even though Peter stepped aside quite some time ago.

 

He doesn’t feel like being touched right now. He’s annoyed and he takes great care to go back to position his body in such a way that every inch of his body shows it.

 

“You shouldn’t let people walk all over you like that.” He says, making sure to look through the windows instead of at his _freund_ , who half stumbles into the railing. However, Kurt’s mind doesn’t seem to register the tone yet as he instinctively reaches for Peter’s hand to steady himself. So Peter decides to clarify his position and moves his hand out of the way as well.

 

As a result, Kurt slips on the ice and Peter regrets his actions instantly. So, he grabs his wrist, hauling Kurt up to his feet in one swift motion.

 

“Jesus man. Watch your step.” He says and stubbornly returns to his staring contest with the windows.

 

“Thank you.” Kurt mumbles sheepishly and decides it’s a good idea to run his fingers over  the back of Peter’s to get the sentiment across.

 

And it just cements the fact that he still isn’t up to speed, still doesn’t seem to get it. It makes Peter want to scream. Instead, he shrugs Kurt’s hands off yet again with a noncommittal:

 

“mhm.”

 

Kurt falters.

 

“Peter?” He asks, unsure, like he doesn’t know full well what got him here. And he should know, he definitely knows if he’s not an idiot… he knows, right?

 

A small “… are you okay?” later does in fact confirm that Kurt has no idea.

 

Even though he should this time.

 

They came here _together_ , it didn’t matter that the rest of the team didn’t know (well technically he was sure Jean knew but she was too busy with Scott to count). They were _together_ and he didn’t even imply he was taken, didn’t put up a fight and just let himself be walked into some bratty girl’s arms the moment Peter walked away. He had every right to be pissed and he was exercising said right to the fullest.

 

If Kurt couldn’t handle it, he shouldn’t have acted like an oblivious douche.

 

 “I–I don’t… I don’t understand? Peter please, come on, what did I do?” Kurt asks, once again moving into Peter’s personal space, reaching out for his shoulder this time.

 

Again, Peter steps out of the way.

  
“Can you please don’t touch me right now?” He says biting the inside of his cheek to keep him from saying something even worse.

 

It was not fair that he was always expected to explain things. Was it really that hard to take a hint? Was it really that different in Germany that dates weren’t dates? That you could ignore them and dance with whoever willy nilly? Some things were universal dick moves and Peter was so tired of always having to be the one to explain that.

 

He doesn’t want to explain. He wants to leave, abandon ship and maybe TP the statue in the yard. Also, cry, like a lot.

 

Then Kurt speaks.

 

”Peter.” He says, voice  all shaky, like he’s scared. Peter doesn’t like it when Kurt get’s scared. He’s not allowed to be scared. He’s supposed to be angry back or obliviously happy. Not scared. Peter can’t stay mad at scared.

 

He tries glaring at him, but Kurt’s eyes are shiny and wide, in the way Peter knows means that  he’s going to cry at any moment. And thta’s just makes Peter’s heart lurch. It feels like it’s breaking, tearing, like his stomach is falling, he is falling and–

 

Kurt does his best to hide a sniffle but the noise _cuts_ through him, letting the chilly night air up his arms and neck, making his hair stand on end.

 

“Oh no–shit–I–” Peter rambles, words mushing together.

 

 _I caused that–that noise is on me. I–_ “I don’t know why I–” Peter tries to explain but ends up choking on his own words.

 

If Kurt honestly wants to leave him now, it’ll be his fault. Seriously, who could blame him if he wanted someone else that didn’t act like a total jerk? Someone else who could trust and didn’t need constant reassurance and attention. Basically anyone else who didn’t inherit all their supervillain of a father’s bad sides would be a better choice, wouldn’t they?

 

 “We’ve been over this. You’re not the only one with bad genes.”

 

Peter hadn’t even noticed he’d said any of it out loud until Kurt spoke.

 

“hah.” Is all he gets out before the first tear rolls down his cheek.

 

He ends up staring at the droplet. It’s running down the back of his hand, over the groves of his knuckles. It’s surreal. He hasn’t actually cried in years, not out of emotional pain anyway. Yet, he feels the familiar warmth behind his eyes, the dryness in his mouth and the hitch in his breath and he knows there’s no stopping it.

 

Not that it keeps him from trying.

 

“nonono–” He mumbles as he tries to ease his breathing, tries to beat back the feelings to whatever place they came from. He has to keep them under control, he has too, he doesn’t want Kurt to see him like this. He curls into himself, tries to hide his face, but breathing is just getting harder and harder.

 

“Peter.”

 

He looks up at the mention of his name and the moment he meets those familiar yellow eyes whatever control he had left shrivels and dies. He sobs. Then he wraps himself around Kurt like baby octopus.

 

It’s pathetic, he knows it is. But he needs to be close, needs Kurt to know that he can’t lose him.

 

”Just don’t, I don’t- don’t leave,  pleasedon’t– ” He heaves unable to finish the sentence.

 

“Shhhhhhh! You’re not going to lose me. I promise you that. No matter what happens you’re not going to lose me.” Kurt says with a softness Peter does not deserve. Then he pushes closer, pressing a kiss to his temple. Also something Peter does not deserve.

 

Why can’t Kurt be like normal people and get mad back just this once in his life? Peter doesn’t know what he’s done to deceive Kurt to think he’s worth sticking around for, but whatever the truth is it will come out with his crumbling mask, he’s sure of it. But he doesn’t he doesn’t want this to be the end, not so soon.

 

He has to find a way to communicate, to say that it’s his fault, that he isn’t mad, that he loves him. Even though he’s a coward.

 

 _A sniveling, shaking coward, that broke_ _down like a 3-yearold girl in front of your date because they danced with someone else. Great job at being suave there Maximoff_ , his mind supplies unhelpfully. So Peter decides to defy it by grapping Kurt by his fancy tux and kissing him.

 

“Ow!” Kurt yelps as Peter somehow fucks it up even more and accidentally bites Kurt’s lip.

 

“Shit. Oh god. No–”  He starts, but Kurt brings him back in.

 

“Peter, Peter look at me. I’m fine, you didn’t hurt me.” He says as calmly as someone can say something while trying to nurse a swollen lip. His other hand lands on Peter’s shoulder and somehow it helps.

 

“Still. That was so not cool. I’m sorry I–SHIT.” Peter sighs and leans back on the railing. “This is not how I wanted this night to go.” He sighs.

 

“Me neither…” Kurt admits as he joins him in his leaning.

 

They stand in silence for a while, watching the nothing of the eerie frozen courtyard.

 

Kurt hums lightly before breaking the silence.

 

“Then again– I’m still here aren’t I? and I am sure we have at least a few hours before the sun rises.”

 

“So?” Peter asks, seriously doubting there was any way to save this evening.

 

But judging by the mirth in Kurt’s eyes, it sure looks like he’s got a plan. God. He could stare into them eyes forever.

 

“Do you want to ditch this place and play video games?” Kurt practically purrs as he offers a hand.

 

Peter wants to grasp it, he really does, but his guilt gets the better of him. He still remembers the big smile on Kurts face, the best one that shows all his fangs. He didn’t want to rob him of any situation where he made that face. Hell, if Peter wasn’t the reason, he might’ve beaten up himself for making it falter for even a second.

 

” Wouldn’t you rather… Y’know...  have fun with your friends? I’ve already ruined the mood once tonight I don’t think I can take ruining twice.” He admits rather sheepishly.

Kurt replies with a simple kiss to Peters forehead

 

“They’re _our_ friends and as you said, prom is for lozers.” He adds and at that moment, Peter thinks his heart might actually burst.

 

So Peter takes his hand and promises himself to never let this one go.

 

“I love you. With all my heart. No seriously, I’ll give you anything you want. A handjOo –”

 

The cloud of smoke is quick to disperse in the cold winter breeze but the echo carries all over the gardens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wanted to bring Kitty Pryde into the story as she is one of my favorite x-men. If the movie brought Nightcrawler in at a different age/time–So can I… aka. She’ll be 15 in this. 
> 
> Also the James bond ref is extra funny when you realize that in the alternative earth-41001 Kurt is a famous actor that played James Bond :D 
> 
> Outfits loosely based on: https://pslendy.deviantart.com/art/Suits-617627441


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